


Stories

by DottyDot



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Post S8, Post-Canon, jonsa, just some jonsa happiness to start the new year right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:14:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22069099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DottyDot/pseuds/DottyDot
Summary: "For a moment she imagined it was the moonlight that fell against her neck, warming her skin, but it was burning tears, so she pulled him closer, offering the soothing noises instinctive to her now. He had wept the first time he held their son, and it did not surprise her that it was joy that broke him. It had always been a foreign emotion to him."
Relationships: Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 26
Kudos: 133





	Stories

“They say the former King in the North is a ghost.”

“Is that what they say?” Sansa smiled at her son as he snuggled down deeper under his furs. “They say he’s a wolf.”

“Oh my” she softly exclaimed, feigning surprise.

“They say—”

“And who is ‘they’?”

Robb pulled his furs up to his nose, “The other boys.”

“And what do you think?”

“I think he’s a giant.”

This she could not stop herself from laughing at. “Yes, the strongest man who ever lived in the North, a giant with a wolf’s fangs and claws.”

“Who tore down the Wall himself—”

“And defeated the army of the dead with three swipes of his paw.”

She kissed him goodnight. “Try to dream of something more pleasant than all that.”

Sansa made her way to her room on weary feet, the sounds of the castle falling into silence, the deep stillness that always preceded a winter storm quelling the living things without. She went directly to her window, her warm cheeks resting on cool panes, the moonlight broken to pieces by the old, thick glass.

“I know you’re here” she said, smiling.

“And how do you know that?”

She turned to him, “Because unlike the stories, you are in fact, not a ghost but a man.” He came to her, smiling less with lips and more with his eyes, face falling to her shoulder as her arms welcomed him. The scattered moonlight fell around their feet, fragments in her hair, bits shining in his.

For a moment she imagined it was the moonlight that fell against her neck, warming her skin, but it was burning tears, so she pulled him closer, offering the soothing noises instinctive to her now. He had wept the first time he held their son, and it did not surprise her that it was joy that broke him. It had always been a foreign emotion to him.

Finally, a deep breath as he collected himself, and then a kiss to her forehead, one to her cheek where his rough skin and a scar on his thumb had scratched it, and then her lips, as she trembled. It had been a long time.

But Jon was as familiar to her as the walls of Winterfell, the sound of their son’s laughter, the longing that filled her when he was away. Sometimes it was months between visits, once he had been absent for a year, ranging in the deep North, yet he came back. He came back to her from beyond the Wall, back to her from Dragonstone, back to her from the dead.

Jon always came back.

He slid his nose along hers, “Have you gotten taller?”

“ _Jon_.”

“No? I always hope.”

“No, you’re hopeless, I’m the same. Although, I do think you’ve gotten harrier.” She gently tugged at his unruly beard. “You never used to wear it this long.”

He smiled, bashful.

She ran her fingers through it, “I might like it” she murmured, drawing him with her to their bed. As he settled back against her unreasonable number of pillows, she pulled off her boots, then folded his arms around her, her back to his chest, so that he surrounded her. “How did you manage to arrive before the storm?”

“It’s deliberate, no surprise guests, no visiting Lords, better this way.”

She tilted her head to look at him. “It was planned?”

“Aye. I’m very good with plans.”

He smiled into her hair, groaning when she elbowed him.

“You’re stuck here with me for days. How could I not come?” She looked up at him, but he kissed her, not giving her a chance to retort. Before they were lost, he broke away with the familiar, earnest question, “How is he?”

“He’s everything you could want him to be. He’ll be thrilled when you arrive tomorrow.”

“One day I’ll be too old to climb through your window, and then I really will arrive at the front gate.”

“One day you will stay” she offered quietly.

“Aye. One day,” softly.

“But then you’d have to stop wearing black, for I would dress you in Stark colors.”

“And that is why I must stay with the Watch a little longer. I cannot abandon the color most suited to me yet.”

“When you do, you could see him each day, teach him to fight, to hunt...”

“Aye.”

“I don’t think he knows, but there are rumors.”

Jon pulled her tighter to him, silent.

She ran her fingers along his forearms, the darkness of her room hiding his face, but she knew his thoughts just the same. “I never minded. I wish you didn’t.”

He could not bring himself to smile. “I always swore I’d never—”

“You didn’t. Even if none know it but us, we knelt before the heart tree.” She turned, kneeling in the furs before him, “Do you not remember our wedding day?”

“I remember the wedding night.”

Now _she_ laughed.

He pulled a pin from her hair and then another, following the strands of gold with his fingers, no matter how often he touched her, he still marveled that he could. Her hair had a sheen so brilliant he thought he might see his own reflection, and in a way he did. Every unspoken wish he ever had was a thread of scarlet, the tint of the heart tree’s leaves, and he allowed himself to hold his forbidden dream in his hands, awed that she did not only permit, but craved it. “I never thought to have this at all. If a few more years is the price it is far less than I would gladly pay for it. Until then, what of these stories?”

She laughed, “You don’t want to hear them.”

He kissed her again, weary, happy, content. “I do.”

“The King in the North who stole a free woman.”

Another kiss. “Almost true, yet not quite right.”

Her arms slipped around his shoulders as he tugged her onto his lap.

“Tell me the others.”

“We needn’t—” She began.

“Tell me the rest.”

“The Northern bastard who slew a dragon.”

He stroked her cheek, “Half right.”

“My dragon knight”

He shook his head.

“More than half right” she said, and this time, she kissed him.


End file.
